


Warmth

by orphan_account



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Desus Writing Group, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 22:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8865802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: For Daryl, what begins as a small cough quickly turns into a much deeper discomfort with the holiday season.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first fill for the Desus Writing Group Holiday Bingo. [Join here!](http://desuswritinggroup.createaforum.com/official-challenges/dwg-holiday-bingo/)

Daryl was out of his element in the season’s thick layer of snow, which Jesus continually reminded him of as they trudged back to Hilltop lugging a pine tree behind them.

“Sure you won’t throw your back out?” Jesus asked.

“Fuck off,” Daryl said.

“Ba-humbug to you too.”

Daryl glared at Jesus, declining to reply. Talking meant inhaling more frigid air than absolutely necessary. Wind blistered his face and he was up to his wrists in sticky sap. If there was any Christmas magic to be found, he wasn’t locating it.

Once they finally had the tree up in Barrington house his mood only soured. He never liked holidays, never believed in Santa because there was never any gifts to be had. As an adult it only reminded him of how lonely he was, drinking the night away as Merle and his buddies tried flirting with female bartenders wearing red caps or fake elf ears.

It seemed all of Hilltop had shoved themselves into the foyer just to decorate the stupid tree. Someone unearthed dusty ornaments from a random closet. Enid and the other kids were tasked with making popcorn strings, sitting in a row along the wall. Sasha sat with baby Hershel, who wore a green onesie crafted by one of the elderly women and kept giggling at the reflective surface of the baubles. Maggie managed it all as she was wont to do, cheerful and smiling. Eduardo and Kal stoked the fireplace, feeding it logs as necessary.

While Daryl barricaded himself in a corner, Jesus zipped around the room gleefully. He ran popcorn strings to the tree, booped Hershel’s nose, passed out mugs of hot chocolate, belted out half-forgotten choruses to Christmas songs, and broke a few ornaments in his haste.

Once the tree was fully adorned with mismatched trinkets and popcorn, Maggie climbed onto a chair and set a glass star on top. The whole room silenced, eyes glittering as they stared at the tree like it was a Hallmark movie and they were all about to hold hands and sing together before credits rolled. Daryl slipped away to the kitchen at that point, snatched a bottle of whiskey, and sat in the old servants staircase to smoke and drink.

Two cigarettes and one third of the bottle later, the door opened to reveal Jesus. “There you are,” he said.

Daryl squeezed against the wall so Jesus could sit beside him. “Here I am.”

Jesus took the neck of the bottle. “How much of this have you drank?”

“I dunno.” Whiskey sat heavy on Daryl’s tongue. He lit up another cigarette to chase the taste away. “A relative amount.”

Jesus set the bottle a few steps below them. “I’m sorry about today. I go nuts around the holidays.” He stared at Daryl. “You don’t.”

“Never have,” Daryl said.

“Why?”

Daryl shrugged.

Jesus sighed and tucked Daryl’s head against his shoulder. “Talk to Jesus. You can tell me anything, child.”

“Hate when you do that,” Daryl muttered. Ash dropped from his cigarette onto Jesus’s jeans. He licked his thumb and snubbed it out.

Jesus pulled away, frowning and suddenly humorless. “Look at me.”

Daryl turned. “What?”

Jesus pressed the back of his hand against Daryl’s forehead. “You’re hot.”

Daryl bat his hand away. “I’m fine.”

“No, seriously.” Jesus touched his neck, then the skin underneath the collar of his shirt. “How long has this been going on?”

“I’ve had a cough for a few days,” Daryl admitted, “so what?”

Jesus smacked his shoulder. “Why did you go with me to get the tree, then?”

“You were excited.”

Jesus stood, sighing. “Let’s go to the trailer.”

“We can stay,” Daryl suggested.

“Why, so you can smoke alone in staircase? I’d rather be with you.”

Daryl ducked his head and picked up the whiskey. “Fine. If you want.”

“Most certainly,” Jesus grinned.

He circumvented the foyer through a side parlor, and they left unnoticed (Daryl kept the whiskey). The cold was worse than before, and Daryl kept close to Jesus’s side during the short walk. Once inside the trailer, Jesus stowed the whiskey in a cabinet and sternly ordered Daryl to bed.

Daryl toed off his boot, shucked his jacket, and laid down willingly, suddenly too tired to defend his condition if it could lead to a cuddlefest. Jesus hung his jacket up near the door, the battered wings of Daryl’s vest displayed next to Jesus’s own trench coat in their weird version of domesticity.

“Paul,” Daryl called from the bed. “Come here.”

“Hold on.” Jesus strode to the tiny kitchen. “I’m making soup.”

“Soup?” Daryl sent him an incredulous look. “I don’t need soup.”

“You need something,” he said.

Daryl glanced at the floor. “Need you,” he muttered.

Jesus’s eyes crinkled in a small smile. “Okay.” He took off his shoes and walked to the bed in three long steps, then covered Daryl with blankets and laid underneath the uppermost one. “Better?”

Daryl hid his face in the pillow. “Yeah.”

“Sap.”

Jesus’s lean arms wrapped around him, and he held Daryl against his chest.

“I’m sorry you weren’t having a good time,” Jesus whispered moments later.

Daryl looked up, already half-asleep. “I’m havin’ a good time now.”

“Really?”

“’Course.” He burrowed further under the blankets. “I mean it.”

“Alright.”

One of Jesus’s hands moved to play with Daryl’s hair, while the other stroked his back. Daryl dozed off quickly thereafter, cocooned in warmth.

 


End file.
